Comforting the Dead
by Dark Lord Link
Summary: Enraged by the events in Stormheim, the Banshee Queen is calmed by an unlikely companion. One whom stays at her side for reasons she can't seem to understand. (May become a series)


**A/N:** Inspired by FutureShock's _Hero of Azeroth._ Link/Sylvanas!

 **COMFORTING THE DEAD**

She stormed about, pacing back and forth like a caged lioness bearing her teeth to the world in anger. The Worgen king had foiled her plans, forcing her to return to the Undercity to devise a new strategy.

The set back had cost her valuable time. More of her val'kyr were falling, and with the Alliance having once again become hostile to spite the Horde's retreat, time was running out. How could Genn be so foolish as to destroy the Soulcage? It was a legendary artifact that she worked hard to retrieve from Helheim!

The battle of Broken Shore was not her fault. The memory of their unceremonious retreat quickening her endless pacing. The enemy had maneuvered around their flank and was overwhelming them, she had loudly gave the order to retreat. How was it her fault, that King Wrynn had perished when there was ample time for their retreat, was beyond her contemplation.

The guards took notice of her ill-mood, and quietly left her to peace, perhaps hoping she would be calmed by the lonely cold shadows of her throne room.

She scoffed, her frustration peaking at the notion. Especially when she could still feel one presence in the area.

It was like a burning, searing smell. Watchful eyes kept keen on her pacing figure, not deterred by her blatant ignorance to their owner's presence. But she didn't ignore him. How could she? His presence had set her senses on high, as an undead, his living flesh sliced through the bleakness of the Dark Lady's chambers like a blinding light akin to the sun.

She hated it, did he not understand that his presence was not wanted? Was he so ignorant to see that, now that she was the Banshee Queen, that her home was a wasteland of roaming dead, that he had no place here?

She couldn't convert him to an undead, not from lack of desire to. Nor could she or her banshees possess him. Again, not from lack of trying. The figure in the darkness, hidden from view by the shadows of her walls, shifted hesitantly; sensing her dark brooding dipping further into the proverbial abyss.

The Dark Lady turned her burning red-eyed glare to him. Her eyes could see him standing there, could feel his eyes follow her every move with worry. She scowled at him, her gaze traveling down to his left hand where a small and faint golden light shimmered gently. It was the source of his protection, she loathed that he couldn't share it. And she loathed that he showed her compassion in her state of being.

But he wouldn't leave. Why did he stay? Even her people felt uneasy around him and his radiate life. Insolent, wretched mortal...if he wasn't useful to her designs and hadn't provided (for her, unwanted) aid to their struggles of undeath, she would have killed him by now without remorse for their friendship in her life. That era of her existence ended long ago, yet he seemed to think otherwise.

Stopping before a table, she gripped a goblet and flung it at the wall. The satisfying sound of the glass shattering brought her some sense of relief. But she couldn't stop herself from slamming both of her curled fists down on the wooden surface, letting a resounding _thud_ echo across the room.

The tender sound of muffled boot-steps on her carpet approached her from behind. Despite her anger, she made no motion to move or face the owner. The Banshee Queen made no attempt to stop him from turning her around, her eyes not meeting his cerulean gaze. She kept her sight from him, not wanting to see his face so full of life, when her's remained dead. A motion from him caught her attention, and she noted grimly that his arms wrapped around her. She was pulled into an unwanted embrace, feeling his unwanted warmth against her cold heart.

She let out a frustrated sigh, unable to resist the comfort the simple yet pathetic gesture had given to her troubled mind. Even in undeath, she was not without limits, or the need for a friend's embrace. But she knew what awaited her if she perished. If not for the curse of the accursed traitor, Arthas, then her war crimes surely ensured what awaited.

In that light, did she deserve this treatment? Were there not others more deserving of a supporting friend, whom had looked past her people's forsaken state? ...Was she so selfish to not forcibly banish him from her kingdom, for his own good?

Without words, he caressed her with care. His breathing slow in her ear, but his heart was racing slightly faster than normal. It was no secret that he was uneasy here, yet he wasn't willing to leave them. To leave her.

Like every other time she found herself (annoyingly) wrapped in his embracing arms, the warmth she once felt as a living Highborne grew from within her chest, like a fire licking at the ice around her heart.

It annoyed her. Greatly. Maybe because her mind was warped by the Lich King, from her time as a banshee in the Scourge. Her will was held together by hatred, and empowered by it. Such malice made it hard for her to feel anything else but contempt and mistrust.

Yet he managed to reach past it, to reach her. And held to her, ignoring his senses and the signs of danger, and the fact that he could die at any moment in her presence. Such courage... She respected it. No one else dared to do what he had done. Not without living to tell of it.

Perhaps she would kill him if he ever did try to spread word of his close position to the feared queen of the Forsaken. Despite the comfort of having a legitimate reason to kill him at some point, a part of her that somehow remained in tact frowned at the idea, heavily.

Of all her subjects, of all her so-called allies, he was the only one that could see past the shell of the Dark Lady and gaze upon Sylvanas Windrunner, High Elf of Quel'thalas.

His blonde hair melded with her own, and his long ears grazed hers, giving her a somewhat tickling sensation, that she hated to hate, but did so anyway. The soft fabric of his forest green tunic encased her abdomen in his body warmth, chasing away the chill of death.

She could feel his grip tighten, conforming it when he nuzzled his head deeper into her neck, binding her to him like a flytrap. It didn't take much thought to know what he wanted, but she groaned agitatedly all the same. Reluctantly, she slowly wrapped her own arms around his torso, holding him tight to accept his care.

Even if she didn't really want it. But he seemed to believe that she needed it.

Her eyes narrowed. How had she put up with his selfless nature for so long? Even if she didn't display her frustrations openly, he always _knew_ when the affairs of her life had agonized her. Sylvanas wasn't sure how, yet he just knew when she needed a friend. Despite going for so long without the mortal ties of friendship and camaraderie.

Damn him. Damn him, and his caring hugs. It still didn't dawn on her why she wouldn't just shove him off both her and maybe the battlements. Even so, whether she wanted to admit it, maybe she really couldn't bring herself to deny his warming touch. She was a woman, after all, and she did have a heart, dead or not.

She still hated it.

Sensing his victory, he pulled back to look at her red, bewitching eyes that stared at him with mild discontent, eyelids narrowed in scrutiny.

"Hmph." she huffed, turning her head to the side. He still held her, which meant she couldn't let go yet. "I'm feeling..." She bit her lip, looking for the right word, "...better, Link." She grunted, obviously not quite sincere. Noticing that he hadn't moved, Sylvanas growled. "Release me." The Dark Lady hissed.

His lips curled upwards slightly, a small smile. She scowled at it, knowing what he wanted. But she refused to give into that. She was Queen of the Forsaken, and Warchief of the Horde. Sylvanas Windrunner did not smile so easily!

As if picking up on her adamant refusal, the Hylian's smile faltered. His eyes glowed a little with sadness, and it irked her even more. She had been so used to his kindness, both before and after the fall of Silvermoon, that it bothered her when she saw his eyes dim like so.

In her ire, she let her fingernails dig a little into his tunic until he winced, ensuring that she wasn't up to his pushy treatments on restoring her livelihood. Link frowned at her, but grinned.

Oh no. He wouldn't...

Link then surprised her when he leaned forward and placed his lips on her forehead briefly. As he pulled back, mischief glinted in his eyes. And he amusingly watched as rage boiled in her glaring gaze.

"Dolan anari a! Malan lo ast!" She growled in Thalassian. "Begone!"

Respecting her wishes, Link released his queen. Slowly, he walked back to the shadows where he had lingered before, picking up his sword and shield. Sliding down to the ground, he gave her one last look, noting the glare she continued to send him.

He was used to it, he had lived with her for a while now and served her as best as he could. If he was honest, he would concede that his presence had influenced the banshee to lesser drastic maneuvers. Perhaps these private encounters had chased away the cold and merciless cruelty that she had been known for?

Link wasn't sure. But the other races were less inclined it seemed to test her now, as if they too had picked up on the change. Despite the withdrawal at Broken Shore, which he was forbidden to participate in, for reasons he wasn't told of, having revived old hatreds between her people and the Worgen, peace was seeping into Lordaeron.

Despite her obvious reluctance to allow him to stay, because he was "alive, and therefore didn't belong", Link swore not to leave her side. He had met Sylvanas before Arthas attacked with the Scourge at his back, and he had grown very fond of her. They were close at the time. But when he returned to Azeroth and saw how she had been corrupted, she made every effort to push him away.

It made little difference. Link was not deterred by her new, unholy and unwanted existence. He cherished her in life, and he was here to cherish her in death, even if it meant his own would come to him.

Wrapping a spare blanket around himself that was provided by one of the Forsaken of the Undercity, Link humbly acknowledged his queen's demands. She had ordered him to sleep, so he waited patiently for sleep to take him, so that she could continue her plans.

Sylvanas stared her Hylian companion down from the center of her throne room. She wanted so badly to turn him, or possess him into leaving Lordaeron. But that confounded artifact remained his shield against her dark magic. None of her val'kyr, priests or priestess' could work around it, meeting the same failure as she. It was frustrating.

Yet she knew that if she had somehow succeeded, he wouldn't be the same. And maybe she wouldn't be able to enjoy the small warmth he somehow managed to give her in his confiding sessions.

A frustrated sigh escaped her, forcing her to rub her temples with her free hand. If she stayed irate, he would likely ensnare her again. Unless she shot him before he could reach her, yet that didn't ever seem to work. As if she couldn't release her arrow when she tried, whether by divine intervention or she simply couldn't bring herself to.

Stalking her way over to the now sleeping Hylian, she let her now calming gaze trail his face; taking in its shape and how peaceful he seemed in a place filled with such malice and evil. How could he stand it here?

Knowing that she'd regret it later when she had time to think about it, she hesitantly leaned down and returned his kiss to his forehead. The action caused him to stir, but she didn't panic, instead opting to remain perfectly still until she was sure he was deep in sleep.

After a moment of his steady breathing, she relented. Standing up, and giving one final glare to his holy symbol that defied her will, the Dark Lady quietly approached her throne. Taking her seat upon it, she let her hand hold her chin up, eyes drifting away from the mortal warrior.

In all honesty, she wouldn't have had her thoughts cleared any faster if Link wasn't here. A small ghost of a smile formed at that, giving hope that the darkness in her soul was lifting just a bit. With a renewed breath of air, she began to contemplate her future plans.

Some small bit of them involved her sleeping Hylian friend, just a few steps from her dark throne...

* * *

 **A/N:** "Doral anari a" means 'How dare/speak you' "Malan lo ast" means 'Go to bed' In case you're wondering, this is based on them having already met.

Yes, I know. This is an insanely …"brave" (for lack of a better word) pairing. But only because it's Banshee Queen/Warchief Sylvanas and not her living self. It being a crack pairing like no other, I couldn't resist. Lol

I would like to note that my knowledge on Warcraft is severely limited, but I am doing as much research into the lore as I can within my spare time. I felt that I had enough knowledge to proceed with this short "testshot" as a possible teaser.

Please leave a review if you enjoyed this! I'm interested in seeing if anyone else may take a fancy to Sylvanas and Link as a couple (with as much ambiguous emphasis as can be affirmed).

Special thanks to GrimGrave for giving his opinions and suggestions! I highly recommend his work, his stories are just amazing!


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